In which the world makes no sense
by HelenTheMoon
Summary: Series of oneshots that take place in the BioShock universe. Spoilers for ALL games, especially Infinite. Irregular updates. Character list constantly updated. Stories more serious than the title implies. Please read and review!
1. A coin

**Disclaimer : I do not own the "BioShock" franchise.  
**

 **Important Author notes at the botom. Please read them.**

* * *

 **A coin**

He woke up with a groan, blood dripping from his nose. His head was swimming, filled bursting with information, all in a dizzy haze as if he was drunk. Flashes of light and darkness, clouds and water, lightning and flames, music and blood, smoke and faces… It made no sense. Nor did he care. Only one thing could he register; the most important of all.

The place he was in was familiar in a negative way. Dark and filthy, stinking with tobacco and alcohol. He could not even tell whether it was day or night, he felt like it would be more appropriate if the room was black and white like a picture, but it was not. He absentmindedly recognized it as his office.

Booker tried to stand up. His nose was still dripping blood, and his clothes had been dirtied with it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that a prolonged nosebleed could lead to fainting and it was in general a very bad sign for one's health, but right now he did not care.

His eyes caught sight of his hands. And he paused. There were no scars. The initials AD were not there.

…What?

That was when he noticed it. Music was coming from the room at the side. His heart skipped a beat. He could not believe it. Was this a dream? Was it real? Could he even tell the difference between reality and dreams at this point? He did not realize it when he started moving; it was as if his body took the decision on its own.

"Anna?". As he opened the door, he let a desperate hope bloom in his chest. "Anna, is that you?".

Booker leaned down on the crib. She was here. His daughter… She was here! Booker let out a laugh. He could not believe it! His little girl was here, a baby just like he remembered her, sleeping peacefully like there was nothing wrong in the world. How was this possible? He – he remembered being _drowned_!

Booker felt lightheaded. Whether it was from his happiness, the chaos of memories in his head or the constant nosebleed, he did not know. However he noticed that some blood had dripped on Anna's binds. Better get himself cleaned up.

After putting a lot of effort in stopping the nosebleed – which required to put his head in an order and that was incredibly hard – and changing his clothes into something more decent, Booker sat next to Anna's crib thinking about… everything.

Had not Elizabeth _drowned_ him? How was it that he was still alive? Even with the whole jumping through realities thing taken in consideration, his last moments alive should have been the day of the baptism after Wounded Knee. And the current date – October the 8th, 1893 – was FAR later than _that_. He should not exist. Nor should Anna. Or Elizabeth.

Wait; how was that even possible? If he had dies the day of the baptism after Wounded Knee, he should not exist right now, and Anna would have never been born in the first place. Comstock would have never existed – since Booker would have drowned before the choice was made – and because there would be no Anna, there would be no Elizabeth either, and even if there _was_ Anna, Comstock would never come to turn her into Elizabeth. So how could a person who never existed _drown_ someone? It was impossible.

 _Like traveling to 1989 and watching New York burning is impossible?_ , asked a small voice in his head. But… that had been a vision of the future, right? He _had_ traveled to 1989 through a tear alright, but at first Booker had seen it as a mere dream of a possible future, which had been eliminated. Hopefully.

Perhaps the whole adventure at Columbia had been a vision of the future as well. The absurdness of the situation occurred to him. A vision of the future inside a vision of the future? One which involved flying cities, strange liquids and alternative realities no less? When had his life become so ludicrous?

 _Is, has been, will be._

 _Right_. No point in asking _when_. But, now that he thought of the Lutece "twins", perhaps there was a way to get some answers.

Someone knocked the door. Booker immediately looked up, a certainty settling inside him. He _knew_ what would happen. Booker rose from his seat and left the room, closing the door behind him carefully so he would not wake up Anna. And then, he opened the other door.

Robert Lutece. "The girl for the dept, Mr. DeWitt.".

 _We'll see about that._ , thought Booker, scowling at the man and giving him a menacing glare.

He quickly scavenged through his desk, ignoring the male Lutece's questioning look, and searched for the object in question, the one that would show them the nature of this world's constants and variables. And after a lot of digging, he found it and presented the male scientist to it. A coin.

 _Heads, or Tails?_

It always landed in Heads. Booker felt a wave of dread wash over him at the memory of that blackboard that Robert Lutece was wearing at Columbia. How many marks were at the "Heads" section of the board? How many Bookers had been asked to give the coin a flip and failed to change the result? What if it landed on Heads this time around as well? Would the circle be unbroken or not?

Well, there is only one way to find out…

In front of Robert Lutece's astonished gaze, Booker flipped the coin, and let it drop on the floor. The coin spinned for a what seemed like forever, and Booker started feeling the familiar thrill of the gambler rising in his chest. Only that right now he was not betting on horses, numbers or money. He was betting on the fabric of reality itself. He was playing with laws that ordinary people could not even imagine. And somehow, that made his even more scared and excited.

The coin landed on Tails.

With a smile, Booker closed the door right in Lutece's face. It did not matter whether what he had seen was a vision or it had really happened. He would give Anna the life she derseves. He would give Elizabeth a home to return among her travels in the Infinite – he knew that she was still out there.

This time, things would be different.

* * *

 **Author notes:**

 **Future Author notes will NOT be so long so please try to read this.**

 **I know there have been many people who wrote one-shots and drabbles like that, but I could not help myself. "In which the world makes no sense" will be a series of drabblish one-shots which will contain spoilers from all games.**

 **No romantic pairings outside cannon. Perhaps platonic relationships at most.**

 **There will be minor OCs most probably - I like writing one-shots from an anonymous point of view.**

 **"In which the world makes no sense" (WMNS for short) is NOT my main project. Expect sporadic updates.**

 **Please give this story a try and write a REVIEW to tell me of your oppinion! All sorts of trolls are welcome!**

 **P.S. If you are a fan of Assassin's Creed, Yu-Gi-Oh!, or Harry Potter, take a look at my other fics.**


	2. Rapture

**Disclaimer : I do not own the "BioShok" franchise.  
**

* * *

 **Rapture**

Andrew Ryan had never thought that moments before his final breath he would see _those_ individuals again. Elizabeth Comstock and Booker DeWitt. In a way, he was glad to see that such… fascinating people had not perished.

That was, if you could disregard the fact that they had _both_ perished the year before. And those two individuals on the security camera were much younger than the ones he had come to know, and they had appeared out of thin air. Both of them were wearing clothes that went out of fashion at the very beginning of the century, perhaps even earlier.

Andrew Ryan had never been a religious man in any stretch of the word – and let Dr. Lamb to her own delusions about the Great Chain of Industry – but, other than a Teleportation Plasmid, there was no way for a person to literally appear out of thin air, and even if they _did_ have one, which he doubted, it did not explain the oddness of the situation. Were they ghosts? Or had they, by unknown means, traveled through time?

Miss Comstock was currently touching the glass panel whispering something that could not be heard through the camera, while Mr. DeWitt was staring at her in confusion. Their subject of interest soon drew Andrew Ryan's attention as well, and he was even more intrigued when he saw it. A Big Daddy in the form of a bird, which instead of enduring the great pressure of the Atlantic Ocean, it was made to fly in the sky. And yet here it was, drowning outside the walls of Rapture.

All of the sudden the questions that Andrew Ryan always had about those two multiplied, and some other questions were answered. Time travelling, and possibly a flying version of Rapture. Who would have imagined that the two strangers who had once entered his great city uninvited and by unknown means were entitled to such… strange commitments.

Now that he thought about it, both Miss Comstock and Mr. DeWitt always had something… otherworldly about them. Miss Comstock had this eerie grace that drew Sander Cohen's unprecedented interest and an intelligence that seemed to exceed the intelligence of all the people Ryan had ever invited in his city. As for Mr. DeWitt, it was never quite possible to tell his actual age; his face and his white hair indicated a man in his seventies, yet his strength, posture and voice, without the use of any Plasmids or Tonics, was that of a much, _much_ younger man. As if his body was a mixture of how old he _was_ and how old he _should_ be.

Mr. DeWitt could be heard through the camera. "Elizabeth, where are we? What is going on… What _is_ this?".

"It's a doorway.", came the excited? reply. "Come, this way!".

"What do you mean, _this is a doorway_? Elizabeth!". In all honesty, Andrew Ryan was as confused as Mr. DeWitt was.

The two companions entered the bathysphere; the same one that the person he had once thought to be a CIA parasite – but now he knew better – had used to enter Rapture. Since Atlas had ordered the slave to take the communications radio, he could not hear what they were saying. Soon the bathysphere reached the surface. Elizabeth Comstock and Booker DeWitt disappeared.

What an odd pair. Last time he had seen the two cooperating, it had turned out that Miss Comstock had been plotting to murder Mr. DeWitt after using him to rescue a Little Sister. That… creature was quite an oddity herself, behaving almost as she had never been under any mental conditioning. For what purpose were Elizabeth Comstock and Booker DeWitt working together now?

He would never know. But, seeing those two right now was oddly fitting.

After all, it was high time he met his son.

* * *

Out of the five girls that Jack had rescued, only two of them remembered their own names. The first one was Mariska "Masha" Lutz, the Russian girl he had heard about in her parent's audio diaries. The other one was Sally. And Sally was by far the strangest of all the girls.

Jack could still recall the time when he had rescued her as if it had only been yesterday. Unlike all the other Little Sisters, she was walking all by herself, with no ADAM syringe in hand and no Big Daddy to accompany her. All she was holding was a porcelain doll; she was completely defenseless.

In spite of her weakness however, she was so… vigilant. She was throwing careful glances to all directions, and made sure to stay hidden at all times; out of sight, out of mind, as they said. This was the exact opposite of all the other Little Sisters that Jack had seen in the past. In spite of their chilling appearance, all those other girls always seemed so carefree it was astonishing. Just what had happened to this one?

Jack was so preoccupied thinking about those things that he had failed to notice when the Little Sister had approached him. "Are you Mr. Jack?", she asked.

"Eh?". The question had caught him so off guard that all he could do was stare at her dumbly. How did she know his name? "Miss Elizabeth said you would come.", she continued.

Someone had known of his arrival _beforehand_. They were _expecting_ him? He had to get some answers. "Where is Miss Elizabeth?", he asked kneeling down to be closer to her height.

"She's an angel now.", replied the girl sadly. Jack felt a pang of pity for her. Usually Little Sisters were getting all excited when they were talking about "angels", but this girl here was so sad… Whoever this woman was, she must have been really important to her. Actually, this girl over here was not like a Little Sister at all. Her voice, while still distorted, it sounded almost normal, and her glowing yellow eyes were full of emotion. Her grey skin went almost unnoticed.

Not knowing what to do, Jack put his hand on her head and instantly killed the slug inside her, rescuing her.

Instead of just bowing and thanking him like all the other girls before her, this one laughed happily. "Miss Elizabeth was right.", she said with a knowing look in her now blue eyes. "You will save us.". And with that, she was off, singing a song in French.

"Looks like there is no need to flip a coin.", said a male voice in a pleasant tone.

"Not indeed.", replied a female one in monotone.

Jack turned around to face the direction the voices had come from. Nobody was there.

A few days later, when they were at last back on the surface, Jack asked Dr. Tenenbaum who "Miss Elizabeth" was. Much to his disappointment, she had no specific answer herself. However, she _did_ know some interesting things. "Sally was captured by Atlas. Atlas wanted Fräulein Comstock tell him the "Ace in the Hole". Sally said Atlas killed Fräulein Comstock.". The Ace in the Hole?

The thought had diminished from Jack's head until Sally reminded him. "Miss Elizabeth wanted to say she's sorry.", she said one day.

Jack blinked. "What for?".

"She brought Atlas the Ace in the Hole.".

"Sally… do you know what the Ace in the Hole is?".

She squinted as she pushed her memory. Jack was not surprised. Even with her surprising smooth un-conditioning, Sally's memories from her time as a Little Sister were vague, though much sharper than all the other girls. Her mental conditioning had never fully settled, explained Tenenbaum once.

Finally Sally gave her answer. "Would… you… kindly.". Jack froze.

A few months later, Jack found a book on his doorstep. _BioShock: Infinite_ , by Booker DeWitt, written in 1899.

As soon as he saw the title he paused. _BioShock_? That was the title of his _own_ book! Hesitantly, he turned to the first page. There was a note there, written in pencil in a rough writing character. _"Hope this makes you understand why my daughter did what she did."_.

His daughter? "Who in the world is Booker DeWitt?", wondered Jack out loud.

"I know who he is.", said Sally. When did she get there!? "He was Miss Elizabeth's Big Daddy. But I think he's alive again. Just like Miss Elizabeth was.".

Jack sincerely hoped that the book would not be as confusing as Sally's explainations.

* * *

 **Author notes: I always thought that Sally was very interesting, expecially after we saw how the Little Sisters saw the world in BioShock 2. Also, a little love for Andrew Ryan. Personally, I think that his world view is oddly inspiring. I can see why so many people would follow him - especially right after World War II. Who was _not_ disappointed with the world back then?**

 **Next chapter, Bookers book (pun fully itended). Read and Review!**


	3. Paying the dept

**Disclaimer : I do not own the BioShock franchise.  
**

* * *

 **Paying the dept**

In spite of the fact that he had closed the door straight into Robert Lutece's face – and hopefully broke his nose as a result – the dept had not been miraculously wiped out. It was still on, and now that Booker had said "no", the Pinketorns became more pressing than ever. However Booker had his mind dead set on the fact that this time around, it would be different. He could not see all the doors the way Elizabeth did; but he had been through enough of those to know that the consequences would be devastating, especially in the long run. The sight of New York burning while an old and desolate Elizabeth was watching in apathy would _never_ leave his eyes.

Yet the issue remained: he had to find a way to pay his dept. And what better way to start than to reduce his expenses. Which meant no more smoking and drinking. Easier said than done. A person could never truly realize how addictive those things were – smoking especially – until they tried stopping. Taking it gradually had turned out not to be such a good idea either. And the whole "cutting" thing became even more difficult when Booker realized that he still had access to his Vigors. How in the world was _that_ possible, he had no idea – perhaps his brain had gotten to used to them – but years as a soldier and a detective had only served to fuel than paranoid side in him that screamed that he would need them, and therefore he would need Salts, And Salts could only be found in alcohol and cigars.

Booker, with a lot of effort, eventually managed to push his paranoia aside and convince himself that his Shield was all he would need in his line of work. Besides, he had enough Salts in his body already from the years of bad habits. Did not make cutting the habit any easier. However his budget saw a significant improvement.

Another issue had been income. Being a detective meant that in order to be paid, someone with a huge problem at hand would need his services, and Booker could not wait for the miracle client. He needed a means to earn money as soon as possible. Hence the dilemma: gamble or not gamble?

Gambling was how Booker had ended up being in such a gigantic dept in the first place; and yet it was the only way to make quick money. Of course finding a job was vital as well, nut his biography including a violent soldier career, a not so successful detective career and a lot of time traveling (not that he would ever mention _that_ to anyone), who would possibly hire him?

In the end, a job offer came to him from the most unexpected from places. Some mid-class restaurant was in need of a musician, and apparently Booker's skill with the guitar filled the bill. Who would have thought that that little hobby would come in handy… Booker had been reluctant at first, seeing that he was not much of a singer, but the income was pretty good for the job, and it was a nice change of pace from his usual violent jobs. Booker wondered what Elizabeth would think of this. He hoped that she would like it. She always had a thing for music, after all.

As for gambling, Booker well… gambled by not gambling. Every time before he proceeded to take part in any of the betting pools or games, he would flip a coin. If it landed on Heads, it meant that there were more chances of losing money and/or messing with the wrong people. If it landed on Tails, it meant that he had more chances not to screw up and perhaps even have a lucky streak. In fact, that was how he had found the job at the restaurant in the first place.

Booker was pretty sure that somewhere in the Infinite the Lutece "twins" were watching him in amusement; Booker flipping coins to predict his future. It was ironic in so many levels – Comstock had used the Tears to see the future and eventually _did_ gain that ability, and here Booker was using the his own knowledge in combination with the Lutece coin flip to choose between a certain but doomed future and an uncertain but hopeful one. Booker found that he preferred the latter.

His newest gambling habit of "asking for directions" before putting in a bid turned out to be a good idea in the long run. His general performance in the casino had improved, slowly but surely gathering money for him and his daughter. In spite of his recent success however, Booker was determined to drop gambling as soon as his dept was manageable. He did not want to risk being ruined by it again.

Now there was only one more thing that needed to be done.

As soon as he got to the baptism part, Booker knew that this book would be as confusing as hell. Booker was not an author, he had never tried to really write anything other than a report or a letter before, and here he was, trying to explain some of reality's most confusing concepts and introducing Columbia and its history to any potential readers.

And there were parts in the book that would shake said readers too deeply. The vision of that future New York burning was too much even for him. The patriot worshiping religion was a subject that generated great conflict in Columbia, causing boundless discrimination amongst the residents of Columbia as it raised questions on where does each person stand in the world – not to mention the hubris of men being worshiped as gods, all in the name of racial purity. The astounding technology made Booker fear the possibility of someone copying it; who knew what would the world come to if everyone suddenly could shoot fire and lightning, or take control of other people. As for the Luteces… It too no brainer to figure that in this reality Robert Lutece is considered a lunatic by the rest of the scientific community. A science "fiction" mystery book which's plot revolved all around quantum physics was bound to attract more than just a few strange looks.

And lets not forget their senseless banter.

Booker DeWitt however was determined to finish the book. He felt the need to tell the story _somehow_ , tell it to the Luteces, to the Pinketorns, To Cornelius Slate, to _anyone_. He wanted them all to know that _nobody_ would take Anna away from him. And who knows, perhaps someone will like the book and Booker would get some money out of it.

When it came down to the book, Booker was being a perfectionist. He was constantly making sure that all descriptions of the wonders and horrors of Columbia were down to the spot, all vox-phones and dialogues recorded down to the letter, the feeling of using Vigors and having multiple realities in your head described to the best of his ability, all fights were as graphic as it could go – Booker saw no point in trying to censor violence. He gave special attention to describing how the _people_ were, to give the readers a true insight on the personality of every single individual. Especially Elizabeth. God, how much he missed her.

It took forever for the book to be finished, even though it was no more than a few months in reality. Booker made sure he had not missed _anything_. No even stuff he was not supposed to know simply because of the date. And as confusing as the final result was, Booker was satisfied. He ended his story at the moment right before he leaned over Anna's crib. Let the readers not know the ending. He did not regret it. It did not matter.

Yet there was still a loose end. Something that was amiss. Something that was never explained – not as in, the explanation was too confusing, but there was never an explanation for it in the first place.

" _A city at the bottom of the ocean? Huh! Ridiculous."._

Booker had been in many eerie places, but that city without a question took the cake. _Rapture._ The glorious metropolis that was so alike the future New York, stinking with blood and decay, protest signs of people begging to leave scattered everywhere, strange posters and a silence so deafening you could hear your own heartbeat. They had even found a corpse somewhere. And that banner he noticed somewhere… _"No gods, no kings, only man."_. The exact opposite of Columbia. And all that time he was here, Booker could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, that a version of himself had been here before. Just what had happened to this city?

It was a mystery that could not be solved by him, and Booker had accepted the fact. His was someone else's tale to tell.

One day, Booker found a package on his desk. No address, no names. However, there was a picture of a bird drawn on it. It contained a book. _"BioShock, by Jack Ryan."_.

Originally Booker wanted to name his book _"Infinite"_. But now, he knew what was missing from the title.

* * *

 **Author notes: Here is the ironic statement of the day; I write all chapters for all of my fanfics at school, but I don't have enough time to copy them on my computer and update _because_ of school. I will be taking a small break to attend to some other fics. (coughTheSeekercough)**

 **Next time, I will let you have a break from Booker, and go back to good old Rapture.**

 **Please, review. Would you kindly?**


	4. Great Things

**Disclaimer : I do not own the "BioShock" franchise.  
**

* * *

 **Great Things**

" _My name is Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a simple question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? No, says the man in Washington, it belongs to the poor. No, says the man in Vatican, it belongs to God. No, says the man in Russia, it belongs to everyone. I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose…"._

The screen – window panel withdrew to reveal the ocean seabed. But soon the rock covered in corals disappeared from sight. Jack could _never_ have imagined the sight that would follow.

" _Rapture."._

At the bottom of the ocean laid a _city_. Immensely tall skyscrapers – could they really be called that? – and equally gigantic statues of men holding the city upright, all that in that Art Deco style that had died out in the thirties. Huge neon signs and light projectors illuminated the otherwise black ocean. All the buildings were connected with multiple glass tubes and hallways. Various sea creatures were swimming in the city – Jack even spotted a whale. How – how was any of this even possible? Did he die in that plane crash without realizing it?

" _A city"_ , continued the voice of Adrew Ryan, _"where the artist need not fear the censor, where the scientist won't be bound by… petty morality, where the great won't be constrained by the small…! And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."._

That city was by far the most ludicrous and at the same time wondrous thing that Jack had ever seen. He remembered the words of his parents. _"Child, you were born to do great things."_. Well, it does not get any greater than this.

* * *

"Now, inject this in your hand, like a doctor would.".

For a moment there Jack wondered if Atlas was being serious. He was currently holding an oversized hypodermic syringe filled with a blue glowing liquid, which he had found laying around and he had no idea what it was. And now Atlas was asking him to _inject_ it in himself!?

Then again, if he refused, Atlas would bug him about it all the way through this hellhole, and that man obviously knew more about the city than _he_ did.

Jack rolled up his left sleeve and revealed the chain tattoo in his wrist. He always had it – he had never wondered why though. A part of his thought that this was strange, but he had long since dismissed those thoughts. Somehow he already knew where he should do the injection; right bellow the tattoo. Jack clenched his fist and teeth. _It's now or never._ With a decisive move he buried the syringe in his forearm.

The pain that followed was not the needle's fault.

Jack felt like he was being struck by static electricity – only much stronger. He could feel the electricity flowing through his veins, burning him and freezing him simultaneously from the inside out. He screamed in pain. Just – what – was – this thing!

"Take it easy, boyo! You're genetic code is being rewritten!", said Atlas over the radio. He added something else but Jack ignored him. Take it _easy_!? Here his _genetic code was being rewritten_ and Atlas wanted him to _take it easy_? What the hell was in the syringe!?

The pain only intensified, if that was even possible. Yet under the pain, Jack found something else. Amongst the chaos, he found harmony.

Darkness overtook him.

When Jack regained his senses, a strange sensation filled his being. He did not feel tired or in pain, save for the pounding in his head from the rather impressive fall from the stairs. He did not even feel uncomfortable. But there was something in there. Something inside him. He could feel it in his body, running through his veins. He felt like a different person.

"Kicks like a mule first time 'round", commented Atlas over the radio – no shit, Sherlock! – "but there's nothin' like a fistful of lightnin' now, is there?".

Lightning. That's right; the injection from earlier… Jack tried to get up. This… lightning he was feeling had overtaken every fibber of his existence, and he was afraid that moving would make it burst. He slowly, gently even, tried to shift his position, and he was surprised when he felt the energy shift in accordance to his movements. He tried to flex his fingers. Electricity cracked. Jack did not feel old powerful, as one would expect, but the feeling of it was… exhilarating.

It took a long time for Jack to place his emotions. But once he did, he was astonished by this small revelation. He felt… complete.

* * *

Killing was far too easy.

Was it really supposed to be like that? The weight of the wrench in his hand was almost reassuring. The kick of the gun had turned into a confirmation that the bullet had hit its intended target. The crackle of the electricity in his fingertips caused by Electro Bolt after a few shots had become a second nature. The flames of Incernate! would not burn him. The ice of Winter Blast was no longer cold to him. The wind of Cyclone Trap was his to master. Even the sight of his skin cracking open and reveal a swarm of bees – the Insect Swarm plasmid – was no longer disturbing.

All those… Splicers. Monsters? Mutants? People? What were they? He did not know. But he knew this: he felt no remorse when killing them. Jack was horrified when he realized it. No matter what the circumstances, a murder is a murder. At first Jack was trying to convince himself that it was merely an act of self defence. That he was putting all of those poor folks out of their misery. But soon he realised that he was lying to himself. It was _him_ who attacked first. He was the one who was conscious of his action. He was the one who did it willingly. He was the murderer.

He should have been sick with himself. But he was not. Perhaps Andrew Ryan was right. Perhaps Jack really _did_ like it here. And _that_ was what horrified him.

* * *

" _A man chooses, a slave obeys. A man loves, a slave hates. A man loves, a slave hates. A man forgives, a slave goddamns. A man is humble, a slave is arrogant."._

Jack had obeyed every single one of Atlas' orders, his only choice being whether he should spare the lives of the Little Sisters or harvest the ADAM out of their small bodies. The only people he had ever loved were proven to be a lie, and he despised Atlas – or should he say, Frank Fontaine – for telling him the truth. He had no-one to forgive, but he had condemned Andrew Ryan – his own father – nonetheless. And all along the journey through Rapture, Jack had grown cocky, _knowing_ that his enemies would not stand a chance against him, and the lone man had caught himself in many occasions showing them that mistake with _glee._

" _Would you kindly?"_. Heh. As if it was a simple _phrase_ that had turned him into a slave. He was a slave from the very beginning, a slave to his own mind.

He hoped that Dr. Tenenbaum would help him change that.

* * *

He found himself blinking, incomprehensive. That – that little girl was offering him the city? She was offering him _Rapture_? Did he really deserve to sit on the throne of this ruined city, marvellous even when it was a shadow of its former self? Was he worthy?

Jack took the genetic key from the girl's hand. This key could destroy Rapture and take _everything_ to the bottom of the ocean with it. The Little Sister included.

He was a slave not too long ago. Did he really have the right to call himself a _king_ now? No. Only one man had ever the right to call himself king in this forgotten city. And it was certainly not Jack.

" _Son, you were born to do great things."_. How ironic that he was remembering that false memory right now.

There was only one way for him to go. Up.

* * *

 **Author notes: I think I just managed to complete a drabblish novelization of the original BioShock game in a single chapter. Of course the quotes are not the exact words because I was writing this out of memory... A small comment on that: I've read a whole bunch of unfinished BioShock novelizations and none of those authors mention how CRAZY "Atlas's" statement at the opening sequence is. I mean, really? How can you ask a person to stay calm when their freaking DNA is transforming?**

 **Also, the man and slave speach: that was a direct quote from the fanfic "A Chance". Highly recomended, if you have not read it yet. I loved that bit too much for not to use it.**

 **Finally, I obviously went with the "good" ending. I REGRET NOTHING.**

 **Review, would you kindly?**


	5. Booker's Book

**Disclaimer : I do not own BioShock.  
**

* * *

 **Booker's Book**

Truth to be told, Booker had a very hard time finding a publisher for his book. All of the editors that he had so far visited had an arguably negative range of reactions. Some of them were disbelieving, either at the book itself or the fact that someone wanted it published. Some others called him batshit insane. One publisher declared that he could not understand the book at all. A few others were constantly trying to find excuses so they would not publish it, as in doubting whether the book would sell well or they were uncertain to what ages should the book address to. A few people called him a radical.

Eventually Booker managed to find a young and of dubious reputation book critic who was generally known to publish the manuscripts he approved of. After he read _BioShock: Infinite_ , unlike all the other publishers that Booker had met so far, _he_ called him back to his office. "Mr. DeWitt,", he said, "you are way ahead of your time.". Booker was not quite sure how to take that strange comment, so he let it slide.

Regardless, the book critic accepted to publish _BioShock: Infinite_ with only one condition; if there ever were any sequels or related material, Booker would come straight to him. "If there's any sequel I won't be the one writing it.", said Booker.

After a lot of effort _BioShock: Infinite_ was finally released to the open market. Booker really liked the appearance of the published book. The front cover was dressed with blue leather while the back cover was dressed with red. The choice of colours was fitting, seeing that the "story" started at a place that was "the closest thing to Heaven" and soon turned into a bloody revolution. The title of the book was written with golden letters in the same style as old English religious texts, an also fitting choice given the theme of the book. That book critic had a really good sense of style. The summary was quite simple. _"Bring us the girl and wipe away the dept. They didn't mention the girl was on a flying city full of psychopaths."_. Simple and straight to the point.

He could never possible predict the mayhem that the book would start.

It did not have much of an impact on the public. At first. However, the book critics were a different story altogether. The plot of the book at first glance seemed like something out of a fairy tale: a guy saving a girl imprisoned by an evil… Prophet? Many critics called the book a true masterpiece. However many other critics received the book as an open mockery of religion and a beacon of anarchism. Soon the press was filled with negative reviews on the book and the sales of it shot up due to people's curiosity. Let's just say that Booker had his dept almost fully repaid by the following two months. Soon the government interfered as it decided that _BioShock: Infinite_ had attracted way to much attention for all the wrong reasons. Not only the book was, as previously stated, an open mockery of religion, but it contained exceedingly graphic descriptions of violence and highly controversial and incomprehensible bits of science that were generally not accepted by the scientific community. They also condemned the supernatural elements of the book, the scene with the malicious ghost of Lady Comstock being on such example.

 _BioShock: Infinite_ would have been officially banned **[1]** if not for the bomb that fell a few months later, courtesy of a specific pair of twins. _BioShock: Theoretical and practical analysis of quantum Physics_ , by R. Lutece. When that book was published – how did that critic manage to publish it so quickly anyway? – it was proven that Robert Lutece was a real person and not a character of fiction. And more importantly, that science textbook described the causes behind all of the "supernatural phenomena" which occurred in _Infinite_ , Lady Comstock ghost included.

It felt as if the world had momentarily paused. For a while there were no reviews, no angered critics, no people's gossip, no nothing. It was as if the world was left speechless. Here they had in their hands one of the most controversial novels of all time, and now there was an insane science textbook which not only supported the book, but it basically presented its events – and hence flying cities, alternative realities and time travelling – as real. They could not handle it, so they let them be. Both books had moderately low sales after that, and eventually all sales of _BioShock: Infinite_ died down, save for a few rare occasions. Luteces' book fared a bit better though. Not that Booker minded. He had managed to repay his depts.

Two World Wars, many not-so-new to Booker songs, and various inventions later, when the book critic was now an old man, he called Booker back to his office. Technically, it was now his son's office since he himself had retired, but that did not make him any less renowned. "Alright Mr. DeWitt, ignoring the fact that you still look as if you're in your twenties **[2]** , is this some sort of a cosmic joke?". And in front of Booker's confused look, he presented a book. _BioShock: Men, Slaves and Parasites_ , by Andrew Ryan.

It took a moment for Booker to remember why did that name sound so familiar, but once he did, he smirked. "Only if you think it's funny.". **[3]**

The critic was not impressed. "That man is the most extreme capitalist of all time, he states his outrageous theories in such absolute terms, and you add his book in the _BioShock_ series!? I know people don't remember your book now, but this is a bit extreme for a comeback.".

"Why, _Infinite_ was not extreme at all.", replied Booker sarcastically. "New book must be coming up though…".

Of course there would not be a clear answer from Booker. "And when will this book be written?".

Booker seemed to think about it for a moment, and the book critic could hear him mumble some numbers under his breath. Years? "Shortly after 1960.", he answered. **[4]**

The critic laughed hollowly. "At least there won't be that many a problem with censorship then.". His expression turned dead serious as he stared at the younger? man in the eyes. "Do you really think I'll make it to that year, Mr. DeWitt?". **[5]**

Booker ducked his head as a sudden sense of shame overwhelmed him. He had forgotten… how it was like to age. "No, I don't think so.".

The critic stared at him for a long time. He then leaned back to his chair, raising an eyebrow. "I was not aware it takes that long to write a book.", he noted, in an effort to change the subject. "Even for you, isn't that a bit too long?", he asked, certain that years did not matter to Booker.

"I won't be the one writing it.".

The critic sighted. "Too bad. I'd love to read it.".

Booker smiled. "No worries there.".

A few days later, a package arrived at the critic's house. The note on in was, unsurprisingly, in Booker's ever rough writing character. _"Here's the book. Have fun reading."_. **[6]**

The book critic read the name of the author. "Jack Ryan, huh? Let's see what you've been through…".

* * *

 **AND... I have made a comeback. I just could not get this chapter right. I was doing changes all the time. Do not hate me though. I _have_ told you that the updates will be irregular.**

 **[1] Books being banned due to censorship and critisism is a very common occurence. Did you know that the Harry Potter books were also banned at some point due to "pushing youths to satanic views and insulting various religious groups"?**

 **[2] Personal headcannon: since Elizabeth drowning Booker should be impossible due to reasons I analyse in chapter 1, I figured that Booker ended up being something like the Lutece twins - not exactly alive but definetely present in the realities, hence the reason why he does not age.**

 **[3] I line from the Twilight Saga. Mind you, I hate both those books and the movies, but I liked that line.**

 **[4] It'll be written in 1961 - 1962, but if you remember, these is a neon sign on one of Rapture's "skyscrapers" which states that the year is 1959. I do not know if we get to see it in Infinite, but I do not see a reason why not.**

 **[5] The book critic is twenty five when he first appears in this chapter, so by 1960 he should be over ninety. People back then did not live that long - in my oppinion, and of course there are many exceptions.**

 **[6] Booker got Jack's book from a third party in a previous chapter.**


	6. Prophecy

**Disclaimer : I do not own BioShock Infinite.  
**

* * *

 **Prophecy**

Seeing nightmares during wartime was natural. In fact, it would be impossible to find a soldier who was _not_ seeing nightmares at nights. However, in the army, those nightmares were of nobody's concern. Everyone had their own personal demons to deal with. If you were strong enough to do so, good for you. If you were not, you would break. It was that simple. But never had Cornelius Slate seen someone having _that_ much of a troubling reaction to his dreams.

The White Injun, as the other soldiers called him – Booker, was it? – was something else entirely. He was talking in his sleep, lime many others, but not a single word made any sense. He was saying stuff like "constants and variables", "Doors" – and they could easily hear the capital letter – flipping coins, a river and the future…? The bizarre patterns continued in his waking hours as well; he spoke of stuff that had never happened, and of the things that _would_ happen. He would just… stare at someone random intensely, and tell them to enjoy their last meal.

Those folks ended up dead on the battlefield the next day. There was a word spread about him in the camp, thrown between fearful whispers and skeptical eyebrows. The Prophet. The one who could See. The one who Knew. Booker DeWitt absolutely _loathed_ all those names, but he never denied them either.

Honestly, Cornelius Slate had long since been fed up with this. "Oy, Booker.".

"Yes, sir.". The young man – no, the boy – was unusually detached today, even by his standards.

"What in the devil is going on with you? You have everyone here spooked with all that crazy talk of yours. Do you have any idea what does that do to the moral? You can't just go and tell everyone when they're going to die, you know!". The "conversation" had attracted quite a bit of attention already, and Cornelius wanted this over with.

"That wasn't no dream. More like… a _vision_.". Booker practically spat the word as if it were venom.

The attitude did not go unnoticed. "What kind of _vision_?". If the kid really wanted to play the prophet…

"Doesn't matter. Nothing to do with you.".

"You sure?".

Booker looked at him evenly. "You'll lose your eye. Your left one. In a month or so. Other than that, nothing.".

"Don't joke, kid.".

Booker took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "I was – no, that's the wrong tense. No, it's right, but it hasn't happened yet- Argh! Anyway, I was at a lake. There was… a priest there, asking me if I wanted to wash away my sins or something like that. Behind me was a girl, I don't know her, saying something about "smother in the crib before the choice" so they can "break the circle". She looks different every time but they look the same… I mean, every time it's the same girl but with different hair, different clothes, sometimes covered in blood…".

Slate started getting spooked. What was the kid going on about?

"Sometimes she's replaced by some… twins – I'm pretty sure they are twins – asking me to flip a coin. It always lands on heads, even if I try cheating…". He took a deep breath. "There is a door next to the lake, but there is no building. It's just… standing there on its own. I go to the door, sometimes it's unlocked, other times the girl picks the lock-".

"The _girl_ picks the lock?", asked Slate incredulously.

"Yeah… When I go through the door, I end up alone in an office.".

The other man stared. "What does an _office_ have to do with anything?".

Booker ignored him. "Someone is banging the door – not the one from before, a normal door – calling out my name. He's asking me – no, he's _demanding_ to bring them the girl and wipe away the dept.".

Slate ignored the dept for the favour of sarcasm. "The lock picking, smothering, covered in blood girl?".

"Not exactly.". So much for a clear answer. "Anyway, I refuse to do so. And then I open the door to tell that guy to leave, and… _God_ , I can't describe it.".

"Was he that ugly?".

Booker actually laughed at that. "No, there was no one behind the door.". The soldier massaged his temples. Wait, was his nose _bleeding_? Slate would tell him so, but Booker cut him off in mid-breath. "It's New York…". Slate's eyebrows rose to his hairline. He was expecting something less… normal. "In the future.".

Hold on; "In the _future_?".

"The city was larger than anything I've ever seen, and the building… Their tops were almost touching the clouds.", explained Booker. "It was in the middle of the night, but the city was all lit up, so I could see just fine. But… it was burning.".

"Burning?".

"New York was being attacked by zeppelins. One of the blasts gets me too.".

 _That_ was _crazy_. "Where were you standing for a zeppelin to actually get a shot at you?".

"On one of them.".

Slate took a moment to examine that. "…Why would you be aboard on a zeppelin that is bombarding New York?".

Booker fell in silence. Slate felt a pang of irritation at the thoughtful look on the youth's face. Honestly, he had been enough of a softie to ask the kid what was wrong with his _dreams_ , of all things, and now he and said kid were standing around making fools of themselves. The boy slowly reached his hand to his nose as if realizing that it was wet just now, and he examined the red trail left behind on his fingers with indifference. How could Booker be so calm when he was bleeding for no reason?!

"I think I'm looking for someone.".

* * *

Months later, after the battle of Wounded Knee – and all predictions having come true, lost eye included, much to the former owner's irritation – Slate received the most shocking news in his life. "The White Injun is dead.".

"How?!", Slate had all but demanded from the postman, some former informant in the army.

"They say that… some girl showed up out of the blue and drowned him!".

"She was covered with gore from head to toe, they say… She said something about breaking a circle before killing him in cold blood!".

 _Impossible_. This was by all means impossible. That Booker, that White Injun… "He had dreamt of his own death? That is madness! Absolute madness! Don't tell me he knew he would die this whole time!". The postman made a run for it. Slate's mind was reeling as he tried to find an explanation. He could find none. Eventually, he gave up. No matter what the circumstances, Booker DeWitt was dead.

Three years later, _BioShock: Infinite_ came out.

* * *

 **AN: I've meant to post this for a few months now, but I just could not find the time to do it - exams. This is yet another oneshot that features Booker messing with people's heads. Tell me what you think in your reviews.**


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